The Conservatory, looking towards the garden, Carlton House. Neo-perpenicular extravagence of cast-iron
and translucent coloured glass in fan vault ceiling. Door open at end.
White/black tiled floor. Gothic chandeliers hanging from the screens.
Built in the late 13th century this Romanesque and early Gothic edifice has become world famous thanks to the frescos created by John Aquila around 1377. John Aquila was born in Radkersburg, Austria. Among the frescoes of Velemér church we even find a selfportrait, which was unique in his time.
The church is called the church of light, as the frescoes are arranged so that specific, relevant portions are illuminated by the infalling sunrayes on a special day and date of the year - f.g. the scene of guiding star is illuminated at Christmas, while the Crucifixion at Easter. Actually, this was not something unique at that time, ancient people knew more about astrology as we think.
In Velemér church there are tiny windows placed into the walls, like slots, positioned to take account of changes in the angle of the sun’s rays during the year, and then the frescoes were positioned accordingly.
Its early morning. You rise by some unforeseen force. There is a disturbance. You feel it in the water. You feel it in the earth. You smell it in the air. You face east toward the great circular structure erected for the worship of the gods. They are not your gods but you must keep this secret deep in your heart for the others will sense you are a non believer and cast you out. But you resist, oh yes you try so very hard to resist.
They are coming. The people in the wagons and tucks with horns and fried food to feed their gluttonous souls. Their paint their bodies and faces like the heathen savages of old. They camp outside the iron center of worship and begin their dark rituals. Music is played. They drink and drink and drink until they sway drunkly to music only they can hear.
And then the gates of this neo-coliseum open. And you realize nothing has changed in the hearts of men for many a long age. They swarm in like flies on a sun rotted corpse. The corpse is your faith in humanity.
Then it begins.
The people raise a frenzied cry that can be heard from every mountaintop in the surrounding valley. They open their mouths, they throw back their heads, they cry out in ecstasy: WE ARE…
And you must answer the call. It is in the very marrow of your bones though you have tried in vain to carve it out.
WE ARE…they cry.
You fight it valiantly. But the words, like a caged, savage mountain lion, must break free.
WE ARE…they cry.
…PENN STATE. You say.
It is over. There is no God. Only college football.